Solitude is Isolation
by Ambitions and Hate
Summary: Bart has always wanted Bob out of his life and he finally gets just that; but he got more than he could handle.
1. Prologue

_**Solitude is Isolation**_

M

Warnings: **graphic** violence, and … trauma

**Simpsons is copyright FOX and its related companies.**

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The beating couldn't stop. It was overwhelming and too loud for his ears.

He kept looking at the man; the maniac; the killer; the sad and lonely man before him; and still couldn't find the strength to do anything at all.

Bart was clutching at his shirt as if that could so something–anything.

The beating of his heart didn't allow for him to hear what Bob was saying but he could see through tear filled eyes that the man was talking.

A tear fell from Bob's face as he looked at the fear stricken boy, gripped the knife in his hand so tight, with so much remorse as he pressed it against skin. The crease that formed around the knife was comforting.

"I … am _such_ a **failure**."

Then Bob put all his strength into that knife that was against neck and sliced through it as hard as he could. He wanted to feel it scrape something; tear something vital, he just wanted death.

It felt like relief and hell to Bob–to be at the end.

A final thought passed through Bob's mind: I have "freed" the Simpson boy.

And there was nothing; nothing that could be called Robert Underdunk Terwilliger.

Bob's eyes released any tears the boy was trying to suppress everything seemed to cave all around the boy and his resolve was crumbling.

He couldn't take the shreds of skin that were so apparent to him. The blood, the veins: it was coming to _him_.

He released the most pain filled and bone chilling scream that could stop a demon in its tracks.

Why was there a dead human before him; why did Bob; _Why_!?

Bart's mind wouldn't let him form a coherent thought, but at the same time he couldn't hear them. The sound of a knife going through skin was echoing in his ears.

His throat was burning and his lungs began to fail him.

Bart couldn't find the air he needed to keep breathing; his body was palsied.

He did notice though, that he was on the floor before he blacked out.

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A/N: If you really do not wish to _read_ Bart in pain and having trauma …. And most likely NOT getting a happy ending here… Then you should not continue reading… 


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: This chapter is going to be edited within the next 2 weeks of posting this chapter (Now: Jan 31 '08)

Be checking for the updated version.

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Chilling, then freezing; then burning; then back to freezing. 

Bart had woken up to this pattern but hadn't _gotten_ up because of it.

Soon enough though, a hand was gently on his shoulder but not really trying to wake him.

He turned to see who it was despite the horrid feeling that dispersed through his body when he did so.

"Mmproy!"

Bart opened his eyes to see who it was who was talking incoherently like that.

But his eyes wouldn't focus.

"What," he groggily asked.

"My special little guy; How are you feeling?"

Bart couldn't help but smile; he certainly knew who that was now and his vision cleared.

"Mom … I-I." Then Bart started to hear something: It was loud–some kind of acuminous and choppy sound…

Whatever it was, it kept repeating itself. Just the same short sound…like a scratched record!

Bart started looking around the room, trying to find the source of it, and he was just meant with Krusty the Clown merchandise … he was in his room.

But he didn't go to sleep here, he thought.

Then the noise caught his attention again. He didn't notice his mother frantically trying to tell him to stop moving because of his injured body.

He sat atop his bed and started looking around it to try to find what it was. It was just getting to loud!

And indeed it did: too much for his ears.

He wrapped his hands on his ears and cried loudly, "Stop it! It's too loud!"

He fell to the bed in a convulsing matter as something came to his mind: the source of the noise, complete with imagery.

Bart couldn't tell what he was doing anymore, but he could hear, smell, see something horrible: Bob's suicide.

Flinging his arms all over the place; screaming through the tears that were pouring from his eyes; and just trying to stop all those images from playing over and over.

It wouldn't stop!

That one moment–Bob ending his life with a knife lacerating at his neck–was on repeat.

He was puking and his mother had already aside holding him from falling of the bed.

She had known this would be bad because Bart's appearance hadn't changed in the slightest since he had been found out-cold next to the mangled Sideshow Bob.

He hadn't even warmed up from that chilling temperature his body was in; and that was 6 days ago.

But this she couldn't handle. Not really, and she had to face it. Bart would need help.

Marge grasped on Bart tighter until he was embraced in a light hug against her. "Oh my special little guy…" she whispered in a slightly choked sob.

Bart stopped puking but the taste remained. And the video in his head did too.

He started shivering violently and the crying came as loud as anyone would ever hear it.

"_Mom_," he cried as the word was elongated as much as his throat could allow.

He dived himself into her arms, trying to hide.

It could only be described as a feeling of lost that Marge felt when she witnessed her son in such a state.

Anguished, she wrapped him as tight as she could without injuring his body further, and began stroking his hair as she sang a lullaby softly and rocked him in her arms.

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A/N: This will only be _lightly_ edited. When it has, **this** note will no longer be here. 


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